Out of Reach
by Thalius
Summary: Cortana struggles to adapt to her new way of life, and seeks out a friend for comfort and some peace of mind. Mild Cortana/Chief.
1. Out of Reach

**AN:** I'm still not sure how I feel about Cortana being human. The science end of it is, well, rather science-fiction-y, and she's usually presented as human only for the benefit of getting it on with Chief. I've seen some good stories with her human, of course, but I'm still iffy on writing about it myself. Anyway, this is another one-shot to add to my growing collection, and how I'd believe she'd handle the transition if it did ever happen. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Out of Reach**

She had nightmares again. She had them every night. In fact, she had no peaceful rest to her name yet, and the waking hours proved little better.

The biggest problem was that they almost never made sense. No logic, no natural flow or rhythm. Had she still the capability of doing so, she would've educated herself on the science of dreams with a simple flick of her processing power. Cortana had given psychology a passing glance before, mostly while she watched Chief sleep, but not enough to help her now, and now that everything had to be done manually, she couldn't bring herself to use the ship's intranet.

Not that Jung or Freud would know anything about her circumstances. Trans-humanism wasn't something most twentieth century psychologists concerned themselves with. Besides, she doubted her vague night terrors had much to do with sexual dissatisfaction or the collective human unconscious. She simply wasn't handling the transition well.

Halsey had said as much to her. Chemical imbalances, over-stimulation, different thought patterns played a role in how she felt—all were true, she knew. She had to get used to organic sensation and thought processes, so alien from her previous mind that she struggled to get through the day. There was simply too much to think about and react to, and not enough time to categorise, store, and analyse it all. At least not in the way she used to be able to. The human brain was far more unregulated. Half of the information she collected throughout the day was done unconsciously, and that loss of conscious knowledge made her feel sick.

 _Another unpleasant sensation you'll have to get used to._

All of this made for odd waking hours. She slept in random increments and couldn't keep track of shifts or the hour of day. Right now the clock said it was 0312, but even that left a degree of uncertainty—what second was it? Millisecond? If she tried to count it, she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else. She couldn't constantly monitor the _clock_. Time was everything, or at least it had been when she'd only had seven years of it. It was a difficult thing to let go of. Now, she couldn't track time, only lose it. At times minutes would pass in the mental space of an hour, and then a whole shift would go by in what felt like seconds.

She roamed the halls of _Infinity._ She probably looked awful, but Cortana hadn't found the strength to add personal grooming to her growing list of inconveniences yet. Going to the bathroom half a dozen times a day, eating, and brushing her teeth already ate up a vast amount of valuable time.

The crew had quickly gotten used to it. They seemed to sympathise, to a degree. A major shift in identity and self was something humans could relate to, at least. Even if that only scratched the surface. She mostly stayed on the infirmary deck, never far from a bed or toilet. She was still figuring out food portions and had eaten until she got sick a few times. Vomiting was immediately blacklisted as an experience she never wanted to repeat again.

Tonight though, she strayed from the med bays. She was in Spartan Town, looking for the one person who didn't seem to care what she looked like or how she acted. He simply observed and listened, a welcome respite from doctors and officers.

His door was not locked, but she knocked anyway. A social convention she had learned early on, even before her current state of existence. Humans liked their privacy, and she was beginning to appreciate that desire in a way she never had before.

It opened without a sound, startling her out of her own mind. _Right. Focus._

"John?" she whispered, moving as silently as she could into his room. A wasted effort, since he could hear her own heart beating inside her chest, but she didn't want to disturb the less observant crew members in the adjacent bunks. "Are you asleep?"

"No." She saw the outline of a shadow move and heard the door close behind her. He turned on a lamp—mostly for her benefit, which awarded him with a small smile from her. The light cast his face in sharp relief, and lit his fair lashes and brows in a dim glow, highlighting the auburn tint in his hair. He was sitting in his bed, wearing off-duty sweats and a shirt. If he hadn't been sleeping, he'd been close to it.

"Sorry. I know it's late." She took another step into the room. "What were you doing?"

"Star-gazing." She managed to raise her brow in confusion, and he nodded his head to the space beside him in the bunk. "Sit down."

Cortana obediently shuffled to the bed. She had to brace her arms on either side of her to keep from rolling into his significant weight on the mattress, but he didn't seem to notice. Instead, he motioned to the overhang above his bed. She looked up, and for once recognised the sight without having to double-check with another source.

"Reach," she stated, and he nodded. The space above the bunk had a holographic display, and the image projected onto the overhang was the night sky of the militant planet. "Where did you get the image?"

"Roland gave it to me," he replied. He seemed to finally notice her wrinkled clothing and mussed hair, and a small crease formed between his brows. "What's wrong?"

She looked away from the stars. The sight was soothing, despite her knowledge that the sky now looked very different above the planet. "Just having trouble sleeping. I have a lot of bad dreams and it's... difficult, still." She curled her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs. Her shoulder bumped his, and she shivered from the warmth of him. The room was rather cool.

"I can ask Halsey," he said immediately. "She'll have something for you."

She smiled again. His trust in the doctor was absolute, and she wondered if Catherine ever truly appreciated the loyalty she commanded with her Spartans. "No, no. I've had enough injections and appointments with her already. I just want some peace and quiet." Cortana paused, unsure how he'd take her next words. "Would you mind if… if I slept here tonight? With you?"

His face didn't change, but she watched the shift in his eyes. Her heart fell. Of course he would be uncomfortable with it. Why wouldn't he? _What did you think would happen?_ He opened his mouth and she interrupted him before he agreed to it unwillingly.

She shook her head and unhooked her knees. "Nevermind. It's alright, Chief, I'll go somewhere else." He said nothing as she stood up and shut the light off. She was at the door when he finally spoke up.

"Cortana."

She turned. "It's okay. My feelings aren't hurt."

"I never said anything."

"You didn't have to."

Silence on his end for a long moment. She was about to open the door when he spoke again. "Come sit down."

"Chief, it's—"

"I want you to."

 _Bold words, Chief._ There was a beat of silence as she pondered his response. "Okay," she whispered finally, her heart resting back in its rightful place in her chest. Chemical emotions were so damn _severe_ sometimes.

She turned around and felt her way back to the bed. She heard his clothing rustle faintly and the bed creak as he laid down, and she slid into the slim bunk beside him.

Despite the narrow mattress, she managed not to touch him. She laid beside him, staring up at the blank surface over head. He'd shut off the display.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, not wanting to disrupt the quiet.

"I'm fine." She heard his head shift on the pillow. She felt the tenseness in his body beside her, the absolute stillness of his muscles. Cortana reached over and squeezed his hand, letting go quickly.

"Thank you," she murmured. He said nothing, but she felt the slightest of brushes against her knuckles from his index finger. She smiled, an involuntary action that made her feel better than she had in weeks. The body beside her relaxed in slow increments in the quiet of the dark, until she felt him relax fully next to her. Cortana took a step further and pulled the thin covers over her body, being careful not to accidentally brush against him. This invasion of space was clearly a big move for him, and she did her best not to overstep the boundaries. She doubted anyone besides Blue Team had ever gotten this close to him in a while, and she could still sense his wariness at how near she was.

"Did you want to stargaze some more?" she asked, and a moment later the ceiling lit up with the brilliant dots of a million stars.

She settled into her half of the bed. She needed significantly less space than he did, and curled up under the blanket while she watched the slow-moving stars. The image wasn't static; the stars made their slow march across the artificial sky, and occasionally she would glimpse a shooting star or stray cloud moving overhead. The trademark nebulaic aurora of Reach also shimmered in the simulated night, with the planet's two moons completing the scene. Wherever Roland had snatched this particular view from, it had been a damn good star chart. She'd have to thank him later for it.

The sound of John's soft breathing calmed her, and for once it was _quiet._ No whirring of equipment or bright lights on or doctors talking. It was quiet. Simple, soft quiet. Her lids drooped.

She was on the edge of sleep when he moved. His arm reached up and touched the stars, and to her surprise she watched him draw a line over the image with a finger, slowly forming a constellation.

" _Decursus Lepores,"_ Cortana murmured. "The Running Rabbits."

She sensed a small smile from him as he finished tracing the hind leg of the first bunny. "Kelly used to tell me that she was the one in front, the thin, faster one."

Cortana laughed. "And let me guess; you're the big one lagging behind?"

"She used the word fat, but yes."

She chuckled again. It felt good to laugh, but she knew what he was thinking. Even without looking at him, she could sense how he felt. Another, more abstract sense she was getting used to. She could boil it down to body language and chemical output through the skin, but it didn't feel scientific. It felt organic and mysterious, and she decided for once she liked the uncertainty.

"You miss them, don't you?"

His hand dropped back to the bed. "They're alive. That's enough."

She turned her head to look at him, even though she could barely see in the dim light cast by the stars above. "It's okay, you know. To miss them."

"I know." She could see the outline of his face, and the long lashes that flicked as he blinked a few times, his approximation of a mournful expression. She saw the whites of his eyes move, and suddenly pale, quiet blue eyes were looking at her. "I've got good company, though."

She gave him the brightest smile she could. She chanced a brush of their hands, and felt her throat constrict when he didn't shy away. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Chief."

"I know," he said again, a try at humour that surprised and delighted her, and she laughed. She snuggled deeper into the blankets, letting her eyes flutter closed and concentrated on the wave of heat she felt coming off him, and fell asleep soundly for the first time.


	2. Stubborn

**AN:** Thought I was done with this one-shot, but after doing some reading of Ladywolvesbayne's lovely RECOMPOSE story, I was inspired to write some more good old John/Cortana. Just pure fluff for now - plot may happen later, but no promises. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Stubborn**

She didn't believe in archetypes; human beings were far too complex creatures to be reduced down to well-drawn parametres and classic character traits. Nothing, especially not the human mind, could be made to fit into a neatly labelled box—something unique and perplexing always oozed out. Psychology would be a dead science if humanity could be defined in such simple, set terms.

She'd always found human nature extraordinary, and ever since she first interfaced with John's mind her interest had only grown. She had employed all her knowledge on human behaviour to analyse his actions, his thought patterns, and his decisions—quietly, of course. Spartans didn't like psychologists much, especially the ONI-branded ones. Not that she could blame them.

One thing that always amazed her about him was his inability to give up. No matter the odds, the obstacles or seemingly life-threatening challenges, he'd never once packed it in. If anything, stacked odds only made him more determined to complete his goal. It was one of the many things she admired about him.

At times, however, his tenacity made her question his intentions. Sometimes, his actions in a non-combat setting were committed for more human reasons than patriotism—chiefly, out of pride and, surprisingly enough, vanity.

"Chief? You alright in there?" she called, standing just before the threshold of the Spartan bathrooms.

"I'm fine."

" _I'm fine,"_ she mocked, trying unsuccessfully to imitate the deep, sharp flow of his speech. "—said the Master Chief on his deathbed."

"I'm not dying," she heard him reply, sotto voce, not understanding the joke.

She rolled her eyes, but ignored the comment. Cortana risked a peek inside and saw that his back was to her, blocking her view of the sink mirror he stood in front of. He was clothed only in off-duty pants, and she saw the smear of shaving cream just below his ears.

"I can help, you kn—"

"No." His left arm struggled to rise to shoulder length—trying to reach his face. She heard him grunt, blow a hard breath out his nose, then drop the arm back to his side.

"You do understand what you're trying to do is not _physically possible_ with your injury, correct?"

He moved so that she could see his face in the mirror. His eyes narrowed to a glare, clearly directed at her standing in the doorframe, but he chose not to respond.

He was armed with a razor and shaving cream. Given the state of his shoulder and collarbone, she was surprised he had the strength to curl his fingers. He'd been helping the Spartan-IVs scout when they had encountered Forerunner opposition. Nothing too dangerous given his experience, but the enemy had destroyed a vehicle bay during the firefight and successfully landed a warthog on top of him in the process. Her jokes about the Master Chief being taken out by a stationary vehicle had gone largely ignored by him, with the exception of a few dirty looks.

Now he faced an even greater challenge—lifting his gauze-swathed arm above shoulder level to shave the stubble prickling his jaw, cheeks and neck. With how fair his hair was he could probably get away with leaving it alone for another day or two, but in all her time working with Chief she'd never known him to waive military protocol.

"Just let me help," she said. "It'll look worse if you've got cuts and stray hair all over your face."

She watched his face in the mirror, measuring her proposal. Cortana could see he agreed with her— _how could he not?_ —but the idea of giving up any form of independence, especially physical, was a struggle for him.

Apparently Del Rio's comment about his age bothered him more than she realised.

Then his brows drew together and he gave a slight shrug of his good shoulder, placing the razor down on the edge of the sink in resigned defeat.

She grinned and entered the washrooms. He was up well before the other Spartans, so the facilities were empty besides the two of them. And even if it wasn't early, the IVs tended to give him a wide berth.

Cortana would be sleeping too if not for troubling dreams. Her organic transition hadn't dulled her memories of the Gravemind—if anything, the jumbled, frantic images and pops of colour and movement that constituted dreams made it more frightening in its narrow stream of focus.

So instead she was trying her hand at shaving a Spartan's face. _Not a disagreeable alternative_ , she thought.

Cortana approached him, observing the broad figure in front of her—the skin not covered by bandages was still slightly damp from the shower, and dewed water clung to his short auburn hair. She tried not to eyeball his sparsely clothed figure too much and reached for the razor beside him. Then she craned her neck to look up at his foam-painted features staring back down at her, suddenly wondering if it was physically possible for _her_ to help him shave, either.

"You'll need to lower your face a little," she said. "I can't reach you from up there."

He took a knee in front of her without comment, placing them both at face level. "Much better." She nodded in approval, then raised the razor. To her surprise his head tilted away from her hand, his eyes wary.

"What?" she asked, but didn't wait for a response. "I've done this before."

"You shaved your face?"

"No," she replied patiently. "Other body parts. But it's the same principle."

He conceded the point with a nod and returned to a more natural position, and she gave a tentative first swipe down the side of his left cheek. Cortana pulled the blades away and looked down at the mix of foam and stubble, then swished it in the water of the sink behind him.

"There, not so bad, is it?" She continued, smoothing the razor down his skin with as much precision as she could manage. Her fingers began to get sticky from the shaving cream, and small rivulets of water droplets rolled down her arms to soak into her rolled-up sleeves. The sound of the razor smoothing over his skin was oddly soothing, and at some point she noticed John close his eyes. It was the closest thing she'd seen to a look of pleasure from him, like a sleepy cat purring over being groomed.

When she decided she'd gotten the last of the stubble from his face, she ran a hand over his jaw and down his neck. He flinched and opened his eyes, surprised at the contact.

"Just checking for any rogue hairs," she assured him. "But it looks like I've done an excellent job."

"As always," he replied. He turned with a silent grace to grab for a towel and stood up in one fluid motion, becoming massive and unreachable again, missing the blush on her cheeks in the process.

"Thank you," he said, voice slightly muffled by the towel wiping his face dry. He tossed it in a nearby hamper and smoothed a passing hand over his features in reflex to do a quick check himself. "I have to meet with the captain in twenty minutes."

Her heart sank. Meetings with Lasky usually meant another assignment—the kind that made him disappear for a week and come back dirty and exhausted, sometimes with much fewer soldiers.

"Not about anything earth-shattering, I hope."

His head tilted to one side in agreement, though his silence meant he was just as uninformed as she was on the matter. Just as well—it could only be about an upcoming engagement with the enemy—likely Forerunner—or another argument for why he should _just goddamn commission already_ and become an officer. She smiled faintly at the thought; another thing he stoically refused to cave on. He'd live and die an NCO.

Cortana sighed then, realising their time together was up for now at least, and looked back to the exit of the bathrooms. "I'll get back to the labs with Halsey, then. Let me know what's happening, if you can."

"Always." He moved past her towards his locker, preparing to slip into the charcoal undersuit that was the uniform of all Spartans—even though he was technically Navy, but no one had the courage to point that out to him—and promptly stepped out of his off-duty pants. She took that as her cue to leave and slipped out of the washrooms and Spartan barracks quickly, before she could be tempted to linger around a dangerously unclothed John.


	3. Shock

**AN:** So I realise it's been almost two years since I last updated this. Halo 5's plot happened and my desire to write more for this story dipped into the negatives, but it seems like it's finally been long enough that my salt levels have tapered off. Not sure when the next update for this will be, so no promises, but for now... here's chapter three finally!

* * *

 _Neurogenic shock: a condition in which, upon incredible pain or injury, the parasympathetic nervous system is overexcited. Symptoms include decreased heart rate, low blood pressure, and dry skin._

That was a fact. A simple biological process in response to bodily harm. She understood in great detail the physical mechanisms in the body responsible for this—every nerve, every atom that took part in the process.

And right now, the knowledge was absolutely useless to her.

" _Chief!"_ Her voice came out high and strained, moments away from full-on panic. "John, _please_ wake up! Oh God—"

She couldn't _move_ , could barely _breathe;_ the heavy titanium of his armour was inches away from crushing her ribs and breaking every bone in her upper body.

Her ears were still ringing from the explosion. She tried to move her head, but pain lanced up her neck and a burst of panic spiked through her brain. _Oh god, my spine. Something's wrong with my spine. Oh god, oh god—_

Her breathing sped up, turning into tiny hiccups. She placed a hand on the armoured pauldron above her, but it was about as helpful as pushing against a brick wall. She was stuck.

Cortana knew that if she could reach behind him, she would be able to access the panel on the back of his suit to depressurise the hydrostatic gel that froze his armour in place, suspended just above her. His massive forearms were placed on either side of her head, braced against the deck, and they were the only thing holding him up.

So unless she wanted to be crushed, she needed him to wake up first.

His head was also frozen stiff from the gel, held upright. She tapped against the metallic orange of his visor, trying desperately to wake him.

The pain in her right leg was excruciating—she could barely think around it. Dim memories of reading off his medical chart after missions, watching the injuries he'd sustained scroll down the screens—burns, stab wounds, GSWs, internal hemorrhaging, concussions—any which way a human being could be hurt flashed through her mind. And even in the midst of all that, he still found time to banter with her, albeit little high off anesthetic and adrenaline.

She didn't have his forty years of conditioning, however—so her broken leg hurt so bad she could feel bile pooling in the back of her throat and her vision fade in and out. She needed to do something before she properly passed out.

"Chief? Can you hear me?"

* * *

"... _Chief?"_

A whisper. Hot pain lanced through his body, up his spine and bursting across his skin—he was alive. Good.

A dozen alarms were going off in his helmet, blinking status lights and the onboard software sounding off alerts in a blank, monotone voice— _not hers…._

But she was still here. He opened his eyes and saw her face, tinted copper from his visor. Damn it. That meant his visor filtering system was broken.

" _Chief, please!"_

He blinked, a piercing headache pounding behind his eyes, signalling either high blood pressure, a concussion… or that his suit had locked up.

"Cortana?"

"Oh, thank god," she whispered. He saw her eyes shine with tears, streaking down her face and making tiny lines through the dirt— _and blood—_ smeared on her face.

"John—your armour's locked up. It's—" her sentence was cut off as she let out a near soundless squeak of pain, her mouth wide open in shock.

"Don't—don't move your right leg. Oh _god—"_

He looked around as much as he could. The entire deck had gone dark, with only red emergency lights cycling overhead. Damaged monitors and consoles spewed sparks, flickering occasionally.

Two IFF tags lit up on his radar—himself and Cortana. They were alone... for now.

"We need to move," he stated, then flicked through the controls on his HUD and found the pressure release for the gel layer of his armour.

"Chief…."

"What is it?"

"My leg is broken," she whispered below him. "And I think… I think something is wrong with my neck."

He looked down at her; saw that her face was contorted with pain.

"We'll stop at the medical bay." If the doctors and technicians had fled during the attack—which he assumed they had—he'd need to splint her leg, or reset it if possible.

"Your armour will take—take fourteen-point-two minutes to depressurise fully without risk of embolisms," she murmured, her voice strained.

"Will you be okay until then?" he asked.

"No, but it doesn't look like I have a choice." She blew out a breath and gave him a weak smile. "Hard to move with four hundred and fifty kilograms of Spartan on top of me."

The flood of events came back to him. Forerunners had boarded the ship on multiple decks and set out to find something—more specifically, someone. _Doctor Halsey._

He didn't know her status. They split up after the initial wave; he with Cortana, and Lasky with the Doctor. He at least hoped she was alive, wherever she may be.

The hydrostatic gel layer began to depressurise, and he set a countdown timer on his HUD. Fourteen minutes of waiting, immobilised. They were in the aft half of the lab, behind a console, so they had some cover between them and the nearest entrance, at least,

"Do you think it's safe to use comms?" Cortana asked. "I can't—I'd be able to tell you before, but…."

"It's fine. We'll stay quiet for now. Don't want to risk anything while I'm stuck here."

"Okay," she breathed, closing her eyes. Tears began to well on either side of her nose again, and her breathing was erratic. The small implant in her neck was the only thing that he would be able to ping for a bio-reading, but as he'd said—total electronic silence.

"Thanks for saving me, by the way," she added, blinking tears away.

"Any time." He could feel the gel layer of his armour already beginning to soften, and tested a roll of his shoulders. It was incredibly difficult, but he was gaining back mobility slowly.

"Usually it's a little less dramatic," Cortana continued. "But I think—I think I liked it better that way. Can't break holographic limbs."

"We'll get you looked after."

"The doctors have probably been escorted by marines or Spartans to a secure location," she argued, coming to the same conclusions he had. "And I don't know how well you'll be able to shoot carrying me around."

"I think I can manage." He allowed a note of amusement to seep into his words, and she smiled up at him for the effort.

"Always admired your can-do attitude."

The gel layer slowly loosened up as they waited in the dark. He shifted around as each limb became mobile, taking care to keep his body parallel with Cortana's so he didn't crush her. When he began to move his legs, though, she cried out in pain. The sound was sharp and familiar, reminding him of their time on Requiem and her struggling to control her growing rampancy.

"You must have landed on my leg," she said, voice shaky.

"I need to move my leg to get up," he warned her, trying to get a better look at the lower half of his body. "I'll try to be careful."

"I don't know if—" Her words were cut off by something like a scream as he moved again, and he clenched his jaw.

"I'm sorry—" he whispered, pulling his leg away. The noise pitched in volume as the pressure on her shin was removed, and he rolled away quickly to keep contact to a minimum. With her arms properly free, she clapped a hand to her mouth to muffle the noise and shut her eyes hard.

Chief rolled to a crouch with some difficulty, the gel layer still only halfway depressurised, and assessed Cortana's injuries. She had minor scrapes and burns from the explosion to her arms and face, but nothing stitches and biofoam couldn't fix. Her leg, though…. It wasn't looking good.

"Cortana," he said quietly. She still had a hand over her mouth, and her breathing came in short, sharp gasps. Her eyes opened, flicking to him and filled with agony. "I need to move you."

He finally risked a ping to her BiOS monitor implant. His hand found his rifle on the ground nearby and checked the cartridge seating as Cortana's readout flashed across his visor. To his relief, she hadn't suffered any spinal or brain damage, and the pain she felt in her neck was only the result of some heavy bruising. But she had multiple fractures to her tibia and fibula, and her blood pressure was worryingly low. Ideally he'd splint her leg and keep her immobilised, but—

The alarms continued to blare overhead, but the lights flicked back on in the lab. He raised his rifle and waited a full minute to see if either of the entrances to the bay opened. He still had to strain against his armour to seat his rifle at his shoulder to take aim, but it was becoming more manageable by the minute. The bigger concern was Cortana.

She was sitting up now, staring at her leg in horror. He crouched down by her side and set a hand on her shoulder. She jerked and looked at him, as if surprised he was still there.

"Don't look," he advised her. She blinked hard and nodded. "I'm going to splint your leg before I try opening any comms."

"So we can bug out quick if things get ugly again?" She seemed to have a clearer head now, and he was relieved to see her eyes no longer looked murky. She seemed to be struggling with the pain, but it had snapped her into focus at least.

He smiled beneath his helmet. "You got it."

* * *

It was a tragedy that she had to be nauseous from pain and jostled around like a ragdoll when she finally had the pleasure of being cradled in John's arms, but she'd take her victories where she could.

"Next corridor is clear," she reported, scrolling through the tacpad strapped to her wrist that had somehow survived the explosion. Chief had retracted the orange of his visor after being unable to reboot his helmet's imaging systems, so she had to be his radar for the time being. She suspected on some level that he was did it on purpose to keep her focused on something besides _just how much_ her leg hurt, but she couldn't be sure. Either way, it helped to distract her.

John rounded the corner, continuing at as brisk a pace as he could without thrashing her around too much. "It's weird," she whispered, looking over his shoulder. "We haven't seen anybody, friend or foe. Not even any dead bodies. No one's tried to contact you, have they?"

"Negative." He looked down at her and raised a brow. They were already nearing another hallway.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She tapped her tacpad again. "Yeah, still clear. Actually, you're green straight through to the medbay—"

" _Master Chief, report!"_ Cortana recognised the voice coming from John's open helmet as Captain Lasky.

"Sir," John said immediately. "Cortana and I are en route to the E-deck aft medbay. She's been injured. No hostiles spotted since the initial attack."

" _The Prometheans have left as far as we're aware,"_ Lasky replied, and John slowed his pace. " _They got what they came for."_

She felt her heart clench and exchanged a look with John. "Dr. Halsey?" he asked.

" _Aye, chief."_ Lasky was silent as he took a deep breath. " _If you can make it up to the bridge, there are doctors here already looking after the wounded. The knights did a lot of damage in the short time they were here."_

"Affirmative, sir. We'll be there soon."

" _Good to hear it. Lasky out."_

There was a moment of silence before Cortana broke it with an emphatic "shit". John didn't respond verbally, but he grunted in agreement. He pivoted and changed direction, heading for the nearest lift to the bridge.

"Guess you're going groundside again," she said, closing her tacpad and letting her arm fall back down onto her stomach. "I hope they didn't hurt her."

"We'll focus on that later. Right now we need to get you looked at."

She looked up at him to study his expression. She wasn't able to monitor his cortisol or dopamine levels anymore and trying to read him was the next best thing. His brow was creased in worry, and it took considerable strength for her to keep herself from smoothing a finger over the wrinkles. "I'm not going anywhere, Chief," she assured him in as confident a tone as she could muster. "I'm just—just a bit of a baby when it comes to physical pain."

His eyes flicked to her for a long moment before he looked back up at where he was going. He didn't say anything, but frown on his face softened, and she could see the relief in his eyes. She patted the breastplate of his armour and settled her head back into the crook of his elbow, trying to get comfortable. She was still in enough pain that vomiting or passing out was an immediate concern, but she wouldn't wish to be anywhere else at the moment.


End file.
